With a terrible groan, Nicholas opened his eyes to see pure darkness around him. His head throbbed, and his body felt sluggish, as though he had been drugged. The first thing he did was check his pockets.
They were empty.
His phone, his wallet, his keys—everything was gone.
"Shit…" he cursed under his breath, his voice echoing faintly in the enclosed space. A chill ran through him as he realized how cold the air felt. He reached out and touched the ground beneath him, feeling the smooth, metallic surface.
The sound of snoring and soft breathing filled the oppressive silence, throwing him off balance.
Nicholas furrowed his brow and summoned the mask of Darkium in his hand, sliding it over his face. His vision adjusted instantly, revealing the grim truth.
He was in a large metal cage.
Not just him—there were several others, unconscious and crammed into similar cages. He scanned the area, his jaw tightening. What the hell…? What's going on?
His mind raced, piecing together fragmented memories. He recalled entering the massive tent and sitting with Rose and Philip. He could remember everything up until the point Glib came out of that damned car. But everything after that was a blank slate.
"How did it end up like this?"
Gritting his teeth, Nicholas surveyed his surroundings more carefully. The cages were packed close together, and the faint scent of sweat and fear hung in the air.
"Is this… human trafficking?" he muttered.
It didn't matter. Whatever this was, he wasn't about to sit and wait for answers. Without hesitation, Nicholas summoned a surge of black flames, careful to keep them controlled. The heat melted through the bars of the nearest cages like butter, leaving gaps wide enough for people to slip through when they woke up.
As he worked, his eyes caught sight of two familiar figures in separate cages: Rose and Philip.
"No one was spared, huh?" he muttered.
He clenched his fists, torn between two instincts. Part of him wanted to escape quietly, find help, and return with reinforcements. But the thought of leaving everyone behind—even temporarily—gnawed at him.
Especially them.
His frustration bubbled over, manifesting in a low growl. The grotesque image of Glib's inhuman grin flashed through his mind. What once made him shudder now ignited a fiery rage deep in his chest.
"It's fine if I kill the bastard, right? He's not even human…" Nicholas muttered, his voice laced with venom.
Now fully alert, his thoughts sharpened. He couldn't believe how shaken he had been after seeing the clown's supposed death. His fear and hesitation had cost him and his friends their freedom.
"At least I got those two idiots out," he said to himself, referring to Haru and Dick. He had no idea where they were now, but he hoped they were far away from this nightmare.
Nicholas moved to one of the walls, pressing his ear against the cold metal.
Silence.
No water. No vehicles. No sounds of transport.
"They haven't moved us yet," he deduced. His gut told him it hadn't been long since he lost consciousness—maybe three hours, tops.
"That means… we're still at the carnival."
The realization settled over him like a lead weight. If they were still here, then this nightmare wasn't over.
He glanced back at the cages, his resolve hardening. Freeing everyone wouldn't be enough. He couldn't leave this place—not until he dealt with Glib… or whatever that thing was.
"This time, I'm finishing it," Nicholas growled, flames flickering in his palms as he turned toward one of the walls. The crackling fire illuminated the determination in his eyes.
He wasn't going to run. "To hell with running… I'll face that bastard head-on."
The metal container he was trapped in was solid, but Nicholas had a plan. A fire ignited on his fingertip, casting a faint blue glow in the otherwise pitch-black space. The flame looked like a blowtorch as it burned steadily, and he guided it to create a small hole in the wall.
Peering through, he saw faint shapes in the distance. They were distinct and static, so he concluded they were nothing more than objects; at least none of them appeared human.
"Coast looks clear enough."
Using his flame, he carved a larger circle in the metal, then punched it outward. The panel clanged against the ground outside, creating an opening large enough for anyone to climb through.
The cool night air hit him as he stepped out. His eyes scanned the area, quickly locking onto a nearby crate. Opening it, he found an assortment of personal belongings, likely taken from the people in the container. Among them, he spotted his phone, wallet, and keys. Relief washed over him briefly before he focused on the next task.
Another crate nearby contained clothing. Nicholas glanced at the tattered jacket he wore, then sighed. 'If I'm going to fight again, I can't let it end like my last hoodie.'
He grabbed a dark grey jacket from the crate, one that looked close enough to his size, and swapped it out. He tucked his belongings into his old jacket and stashed it in a nearby bush.
"Sorry, random person," he muttered as he donned the new jacket. "But desperate times."
Satisfied, Nicholas summoned his black mist to shroud his body. The swirling darkness cloaked him, muffling his movements and blending him seamlessly into the shadows.
The carnival was eerily silent as he crept through its grounds. The moonlight barely touched the area, as though even the heavens wanted no part of this place. Nicholas didn't mind. The deeper shadows worked to his advantage, consuming the sound of his footsteps.
As he explored, more questions than answers surfaced. He encountered only a handful of people, each guarding something, though their movements seemed erratic.
So not that many people are in on this, he mused. 'That's... something, I guess.'
He made his way to Glib's personal tent, hoping for answers. The sight that greeted him turned his stomach.
The shattered mirror, the blood-soaked table—it was exactly as he remembered. But the blood itself was wrong.
It wasn't red anymore. It had deepened into a viscous black, almost like tar.
Nicholas clenched his fists, his unease growing. His earlier suspicions about Glib being inhuman felt less like a paranoid joke and more like a horrifying reality.
In the end, the tent held no further answers, just confirmation of the nightmare he was now tangled in.
He knew his next destination.
Before heading to the main event tent, he scavenged for fireworks, gathering as many as he could. He placed them in the container where the other captives were held, hiding them carefully.
'If something goes wrong, someone will wake up. They'll send a signal.'
Nicholas stared at the improvised signal system, a grim resolve settling over him.
'No matter what happens, someone has to come. Police, a Hero—anything.'
With that, he turned toward the looming silhouette of the main event tent. The oppressive structure seemed larger than before, its darkened entrance like the gaping maw of some great beast.
"Now then…" he muttered, his voice steady despite the grimace on his face.
Each step he took toward the tent felt heavier, as though the air itself was fighting to hold him back. But Nicholas pushed on, his mind focused on the confrontation ahead.
The carnival was silent, but Nicholas's instincts screamed that something terrible awaited him inside.
"'What's the worst that can happen,' huh? Me and my big stupid mouth," he muttered under his breath as he entered the tent.
The sight that greeted him was far from what he had expected. Moving cautiously, he climbed into the shadowed stands, using the darkness as his only ally.
At the center of the tent, six figures stood beneath a dim, flickering light. Five of them were the female clowns that Haru and Dick had ogled earlier. Each one held a high-caliber gun, their fingers resting lightly on the triggers.
They were positioned around a massive, intricately drawn star on the ground. The symbol glistened with a red substance that looked far too much like blood. It resembled a demonic ritual circle, its surface etched with strange markings and lines that pulsed faintly, as if alive.
And in the center of it all was Glib, the clown.
Glib stood motionless, his lips moving soundlessly, his face twisted into an unsettling expression of focus. The faint glow from the circle cast eerie shadows on his face, making him appear even more grotesque than usual.
That damned clown. Nicholas clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as rage flared within him.
His mind raced. He had to stop whatever insane ritual this was. But how? If he attacked head-on, he'd risk revealing himself, putting the captives in danger. Worse, the clowns could use them as hostages to force his hand.
'What do I do? What do I do?' The question repeated in his mind like a mantra as he absently scratched at the skin near his thumbnails, a compulsive action he couldn't seem to stop.
Then he froze, forcing himself to breathe.
'Stop them, obviously.'
His heartbeat slowed as he calmed down, hyping himself up with memories of his past. He thought back to his fight with Markus. He hadn't won, but he'd held his ground long enough for Heroes to arrive.
'I can do the same thing here. Probably.'
The captives flashed in his mind again. He hated feeling powerless, but this time, he had a plan—a countermeasure. Paranoia wasn't always a curse; it was the reason he thought ten steps ahead when it mattered.
He murmured, "If I'm doing this, I'm doing it right."
His eyes scanned the scene, formulating his approach. First, he'd need to disrupt the ritual circle. The red markings looked critical to whatever Glib was summoning, and destroying it might buy him some time.
Then he'd strike fast, taking out at least two of the clowns in the opening moments.
"They're not awakened," he reasoned, studying their posture and reliance on guns. "Otherwise, they wouldn't need weapons... probably."
Uncertainty lingered, but there wasn't time to dwell on it. He exhaled deeply, his resolve hardening.
I don't have much time left.
'Disrupt the circle, take out the threats, and survive long enough for help to arrive.'
It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was all he had. Nicholas gritted his teeth and made his move.
With a burst of momentum, he propelled himself toward the center of the ritual. Fire flared to life in his hands, several orbs of searing light arcing through the air toward the clowns. He made sure they weren't hot enough to cause lasting burns but ensured the heat was disorienting. One particularly fierce fireball targeted the demonic circle itself, the flames hungrily consuming the blood-drawn markings.
The clowns hissed in pain as two dropped their weapons. Still mid-air, Nicholas spun and lashed out with a kick, connecting with one clown's face and sending her sprawling across the ground. Another clown raised her weapon and fired, but Nicholas was faster. A plate of Darkium materialized in his hands, intercepting the bullet with a sharp clang. He used the shield as a battering ram, slamming it into her and knocking her to the ground.
A quick glance told him the demonic circle was no longer intact—or at least that's what he hoped. The blood had burned to ash, leaving nothing but smoldering darkness in its wake. Yet, his stomach churned as he realized something was horribly wrong.
The flames—the very ones he had created—had reshaped the circle. The new design glowed with a malevolent energy that pulsed in time with the dim red light above them.
And Glib... Glib was still chanting.
"Thank you, child," the clown said, his voice cold and mocking. "Flames were the final step."
Nicholas's heart sank, his thoughts a whirlwind of panic and fury. Of course, it was. Fuck everything!
Glib turned to his battered minions, his tone devoid of emotion as he commanded, "Leave us be. Check on the captives."
Obediently, they shuffled away, though not without casting murderous glances at Nicholas. He met their glares head-on, dagger in hand, refusing to back down. Only when they exited the tent did he let himself focus solely on the nightmare before him.
Now it was just him and Glib.
The dim red glow seemed to intensify, casting long, flickering shadows that danced like specters on the tent walls. Flames still swirled around Glib, their light making his painted face appear even more grotesque.
"So, what now?" Nicholas asked, his voice edged with fear but laced with defiance. "Are you going to reveal your evil plan? Or are we skipping to the part where you monologue?"
Glib tilted his head, his face unnervingly calm. "Nothing like that," he replied with a low chuckle. "Just observe... as the magic happens."
Without warning, Glib dug his fingers into his own face.
Nicholas's stomach churned as the clown began to rip the flesh away, peeling his skin in long, wet strips. Horrified, Nicholas reacted instinctively, hurling his dagger at the thing's throat.
The blade struck true, embedding itself deep. Yet Glib didn't flinch.
Instead, he continued tearing at his flesh, splitting his face apart down the middle. His entire body followed suit, splitting in two in a grotesque and unnatural transformation. What emerged was a nightmare-given form.
A thin, humanoid figure stood in Glib's place. Its skin was a dark, mottled brown, stretched taut over jagged bones. Blood oozed from its body, staining the ground beneath it. Nicholas refused to look directly at its face, knowing instinctively that doing so would shatter whatever grip he still had on his sanity.
The creature stooped low, reaching into the remnants of the ritual circle. From within the ash, it withdrew an object—a deer skull with impossibly long antlers, its lower jaw missing. Slowly, almost reverently, it placed the skull atop its head, completing its horrifying transformation.
The creature began to grow, its limbs elongating unnaturally as its body thinned even further. Bones jutted out beneath its grotesque skin, giving it an emaciated, skeletal appearance. By the time it stopped growing, it towered over Nicholas, standing at least four meters tall.
Nicholas swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he summoned a fireball with every ounce of heat he could muster. With a shout, he hurled it directly at the creature's chest.
The thing didn't even flinch. It swatted the fireball aside like it was nothing more than an annoying insect.
"How impudent," it said, its voice smooth, charismatic, and utterly terrifying.
Nicholas clenched his fists, his mind racing as he struggled to stay focused. He punched himself in the gut hard enough to knock the wind out of him, forcing clarity through the haze of fear clouding his thoughts.
It's trying to manipulate me again, he realized. 'Not this time. I'm not letting it win.'
Steeling himself, Nicholas raised his dagger once more. The flames of his determination burned brighter than ever.
"Come on, then," he growled. His anger at the disgusting creature momentarily won over his fear of it.